


Except Your Touch

by stargazerdaisy



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Anything Lucy, CW 2020, Chenford Week 2020, Day 1, F/M, Lucy hates anyone touching her hair, and she feels safe with thim, except Tim, he's gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25216081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazerdaisy/pseuds/stargazerdaisy
Summary: “I’m not going to bite you, Lucy.”“I know that,” she said, huffing a laugh as her cheeks turned pink.  “It’s just…  Don’t worry about it.”  She looked down, avoiding eye contact.“It’s just what?”  Leave it to Tim to pick up on her half sentence, even while she was trying to downplay it.“I just…” She bit her lip, taking a step back.  “I don’t really like people touching my hair.”Lucy hates having her hair touched.  Her scalp is too sensitive, people are too rough, and the horrors of wearing French braids every day for two straight years as a kid have never left her.  But maybe Tim will be the exception to the rule.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 16
Kudos: 122
Collections: Chenford Week 2020





	Except Your Touch

"Lucy!" her mother called. "It's time to do your hair. Bring the brush and hair bands, please."

For the third time that week, six-year-old Lucy Chen wondered if she could get away with hiding under her bed until dinner time. Probably not, considering she had to go to school, but maybe this time it would work? Except that she knew her mother would come looking for her and she’d end up in the same spot she was in now. Plus, then her mom would be upset and even less likely to be gentle. 

With a sigh, Lucy trudged to the bathroom to get the requested items. She could barely see over the counter to see her reflection in the mirror, but she paused for just a moment to make a face. The only bright spot in the whole endeavour is that she was allowed to pick the color of the hair bands, even if she had no say over the style itself. Today felt like a green and yellow day. 

“Here, Mama,” Lucy said, coming into the living room and handing over the brush and bands, taking her spot in front of her mother.

“You sure about these colors?” Her mother’s tone was skeptical. “They don’t exactly go with your dress. Don’t you want to get purple ones?”

“No.” Lucy was firm. “I want yellow and green.”

“If that’s what you want,” Mama said. Silence fell as her mother began to brush through Lucy’s thick hair. This was the part she hated the most. The brush snagged and pulled on her waves, finding tangles constantly.

“Lucy, you haven’t been keeping up with brushing your hair, have you?” her mother chided. “If you had, it wouldn’t be this hard.”

The 1st grader grimaced as her head was yanked back. She tried so hard not to complain, but sometimes a small squeak or whimper would escape. 

“I’m sorry, chicken,” her mother soothed. “It’s a really tough tangle.”

Finally everything was combed through to her mother’s satisfaction. The comb was sharp as it was dragged down the middle of her scalp. Lucy tried to shy away, but her head was turned back into place.

“Don’t move,” Mama said. “I always tell you that.”

“I’m not trying to!” Lucy cried. 

“Sit still,” was the command.

Lucy lapsed into a pouting silence once again. She hated this. She hated having her hair yanked and pulled and jerked into place. It always left her feeling like she’d been pricked by dozens of tiny needles and her head would ache for the rest of the day. Everything would finally relax by the end of the day, then it would be time to take out the braids, and once more, her scalp would _hurt_. For months, she’d tried to convince her mom to let her wear her hair loose, but Mama always insisted on the French braids. 

“Pass me the elastic,” was all that was said for the next ten minutes while her mother wrenched and tugged the strands into two of the tightest French braids ever created. “Okay, you’re done. Please try to keep your clothes clean today.”

“Yes, Mama,” she replied dutifully. _When I’m a grownup, I’ll never brush my hair and no one can make me and I am definitely **never** wearing French braids again,_ she thought to herself.

* * * * *

“Come on, Lucy, go with us,” her friend begged. “You already said you’d go to the dance. Let’s do this all together too.”

“Why can’t I just do my own hair?” Lucy asked with a grimace. “I’m down for mani-pedis, but do we have to get our hair done?” 

“Even you can’t see the back of your own head,” Kaitlyn chimed in. “Plus, it’s so much fun and way more relaxing to have someone else do it.”

Lucy gritted her teeth and tried not to grumble under her breath, recognizing her friends would have no reason to know that Lucy hated anyone touching her hair. As soon she got the freedom to do her hair herself as a child, she wore it long and loose, rarely bothering with even a ponytail. “But it’s expensive,” she tried, grasping for any excuse to get out of it.

“Don’t worry about that,” Allie said, winking. “What else is Daddy’s credit card for?”

The girls, including Lucy, all cracked up. It’s true Allie came from an insanely rich blueblood family on the East Coast, but somehow she had managed to develop a truly sweet and generous nature. Her parents loved to spoil her, so she in turn loved to spoil her friends. Allie always said that it just wasn’t any fun if she was the only one who could afford things. Her offer was genuine and received with grace and appreciation.

“Okay, okay, fine. You win,” Lucy acquiesced. “But absolutely nothing involving French braids.” 

“Deal,” confirmed Rachel. “It’s not like we’re nine anymore, either.”

The next Saturday afternoon found Lucy sitting in a salon chair, trying desperately not to yell at the stylist or get up and run for the door. She was clutching the arm rests so tightly under the cape, that it was a wonder she didn’t break them.

“You okay, honey?” the stylist asked, noticing how jumpy Lucy was.

“Yeah,” Lucy breathed out. “I’m fine. Just, I’ve got a bit of a tender head.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” the stylist winked. 

And she was...mostly. Well, she tried. But you can only be so gentle when you’re twisting 20+ inches of thick hair into an intricate design. There were curls and hairspray and mousse and bobby pins. Oh good grief, the bobby pins. Lucy swore she could feel the bobby pins touching the inside of her skull. Her psychology classes had taught her that the brain itself didn’t have any nerve endings and couldn’t actually feel the sensation of pain, but right now she was seriously doubting that. 

“Lucy, you look amazing!” her friends gushed. And they were right. The hairdo was magnificent. Lucy sure couldn’t have pulled it off on her own. The effect with the deep blue dress and gold jewelry was absolutely magical. But that didn’t stop her head from aching in all the spots the hair was pulled tight. 

Nevertheless, she plastered on a smile. “Thanks guys. Now, can we finally go to this dance? I have plans to stay on that dance floor all night. These heels are going to become flats by the time I’m done with them.”

The quartet all giggled and linked arms, strutting their way into the Sigma Chi dance with all the confidence in the world.

* * * * *

“Ow! Ow! Watch it Kojo!” Lucy cried to the dog jumping all around her. But it only served to rile him up even more. “Ouch! Kojo, stop!”

“Kojo!” Tim barked. “Down.” Immediately Kojo complied. 

Lucy had been doing a yoga video in the living room while her boys were out for a walk. It had ended just a couple minutes before and she was laying on her mat, meditating, concentrating on her breathing. It was an important part of her morning, centering herself and finding that bit of peace before facing whatever the world wanted to throw at her. (Though, this morning she was hoping it would throw waffles at her. Maybe Tim would be in the mood to cook when he got back. Or maybe he’d let her talk him into being in the mood for it.) 

The door opened, and she heard the jangle of the leash being unclipped, but didn’t have much time to prepare herself before 55lbs of excited pit bull descended on her. Kojo jumped all around her head, licking her face, trying to nuzzle her, and ended up pulling her hair as his feet moved all over the place. 

Once Tim had him settled, he stretched out a hand to help Lucy up. “Sorry, he was really excited to see Mom.”

“I can see that,” she chuckled. Rubbing at her scalp, she winced. 

“You okay there, Boot?” Tim asked, never missing anything when it came to her. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, massaging at the sore spots. “He just pulled my hair, that’s all.”

“Come here,” Tim offered, pulling her close. Instinctively she moved into his embrace, but still held her head away from his hands. “I’m not going to bite you, Lucy.”

“I know that,” she said, huffing a laugh as her cheeks turned pink. “It’s just… Don’t worry about it.” She looked down, avoiding eye contact. 

“It’s just what?” Leave it to Tim to pick up on her half sentence, even while she was trying to downplay it. 

“I just…” She bit her lip, taking a step back. “I don’t really like people touching my hair.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, not doubting her, but scanning through his memories wondering how he didn’t know this before. They’d been teamed up as T.O. and Rookie for a year, long before they ever started dating, and now they’d been a couple for almost another year. How was it that in 2 1/ 2 years of knowing Lucy and seeing her almost every day, that he’d never noticed that? 

“It’s nothing weird or anything,” she went on. “Just, my scalp is really sensitive and anyone who ever tries always seems to pull on it.”

“I see,” he said, mulling it over. “Well, I should still help make up for the lack of manners from the brute down there.” Kojo looked up, like he knew it was about him.

“Really, it’s fine…” 

“Can I try? I can be pretty gentle when the situation calls for it.”

The thing was, she knew he could be. Gruff, cold, mean T.O. Tim Bradford was a marshmallow at his core. Most people never saw it, but he had shown it to her early on, and she was still finding out just how soft he could be. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked, watching her weigh it out in her mind.

“Yes,” she immediately replied. As if there could have been any other answer. She had trusted him with her life from the first moment they met, and it wasn’t long after that she came to trust him with her heart. 

“Come here,” he said again, this time pulling her back to the couch. “Stay,” he warned Kojo, who was looking ready to jump up with them.

Gently, Tim maneuvered their bodies until they were lying in Lucy’s favorite position, her draped across his chest, ear over his heart. Softly, barely moving at first, he worked his fingers into her hair. His movements were tender and infused with care. Fingertips worked in small circles all over her scalp. He listened to her every breath, paying attention for any sign that she was uncomfortable or in pain. It never came. As he took his time, exploring through her thick strands, she relaxed, nuzzling into him and her breathing growing deeper.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled his hands out of her hair, instead resting them on her back.

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “You should play with my hair more often.”

Tim laughed. “Yeah? That was alright?”

“Better than alright,” she murmured. A slight turn of her head and she pressed a kiss against his chest. “Thank you. You might be the only person who has ever managed to touch my hair and not make me regret it.”

“Glad I could be your first,” he teased.

Lucy chuckled, revelling in feeling completely safe and utterly loved. It was a heady feeling, and she wouldn’t give it up for the world.


End file.
